by Zac Harrison
“Eh? Pardon?” Kaal leaned in towards him, his ear stuffed with spacecloud wadding. “What was that?’
“I said, where next?” John yelled, thinking that talking to Kaal had suddenly become very much like talking to his grandfather.
The Derrilian shrugged. “Gave up caring at the moss place,” he answered.
“I’m hungry,” said John.
“What?”
“I’M HUNGRY!”
Further down the Shuttletube, Ms Vartexia broke off a conversation she had been having with Werril, and looked over at them. “There’s no need to shout, John Riley,” she said primly. “As it happens,” she continued, “we are now on our way to Optical Orbit, the restaurant where we will be eating tonight. I am told it is quite a treat.”
“Thank goodness,” said Emmie. “Food, then bed, and then only one more day of this nightmare to get through.”
John grunted in agreement. Sitting back, he watched as the scenery turned to ice and snow and the sun went down over Archivus Major.
“This is more like it,” he whistled ten minutes later. The Shuttletube had stopped at the front gates of a crystal sphere the size of a palace. It twinkled with the reflected light of Archivus Major’s twin moons.
“Optical Orbit,” announced the Shuttletube’s automatic voice.
Ms Vartexia led the way up a wide staircase to the perfectly circular door. “It’s one of the most famous restaurants in the universe,” she said.
Inside, John gazed around in wonder.
“Sheesh,” hissed Emmie beside him. “My dad’s taken me to some fancy restaurants but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
At the far end of the entrance hall, a fire of pure blue flame roared in a magnificent fireplace. On either side, sweeping staircases climbed to a gallery that circled the great room. A mind-twisting light show moved across the spherical walls, while glowing orbs rose and fell to the beat. It’s like being in a giant lava lamp, John thought.
Chapter 9
“This place is incredible,” he said out loud, nudging Kaal.
“Eh? What?” his friend replied. “You think the plates are inedible?”
John was so busy staring around, he didn’t notice the silver trolley rolling across the floor until it stopped right in front of the group.
“Good evening, honoured guests” the box-on-wheels said in a high-pitched voice. “You must be the party from Hyperspace High.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Ms Vartexia nodded. “I believe we have a table booked, but I’m afraid we are missing two of our group.”
“That is quite all right,” the trolley replied. “You are the only visiting party on the planet at the moment and we have arranged everything for your supreme enjoyment. Please, follow me.”
Turning away, the trolley-waiter trundled across the floor to a large, round table surrounded by MorphSeats and set for eighteen. In the centre was another crystal ball that looked like a smaller version of the restaurant itself. Blobs of coloured light moved through it.
Small name cards told each student where to sit. Silently, another trolley rolled forward. A hatch opened in its side and long metal arms emerged, removing two of the place settings.
“They’ve really thought about this,” John whispered to Emmie, as he looked around the table. In front of him was a place setting that included a knife, fork, and spoon. Emmie’s had the metal prong that Sillarans used for eating. Kaal’s had the Derrilian tarb, which looked like a cross between a large spoon and a fork.
“Thank you for noticing,” purred the waiter. Its own metal arm emerged and the machine clicked its fingers. Instantly, words appeared in the air above John’s plate: the menu. “At Optical Orbit we pride ourselves on providing the perfect dining experience for every guest,” the trolley told him. “Everything must be just so.”
Glancing at the menu, John started with surprise. It listed all his favourite foods: spare ribs, cheeseburger, sweet and sour chicken, lasagne, and more. In the side-order section he found fries, onion rings, coleslaw: again, everything he loved. “How did you—” he began.
The trolley made a noise that sounded to John like a titter. “We have our ways, sir,” it said.
“Cool, they have Derrilian Colca,” said Kaal, as the waiter rolled away. “And Nish Crab, and... hey, it’s all my favourite things.”
“Mine, too,” said Emmie. “How do they do that?”
“Most likely they take information from Archivus Major’s DNA scanners and cross-reference it to a database of your home planet’s most popular meals,” explained Lishtig. “Look, I’ve got Trilbean Stew on my menu. I’m the only person on Slarce who hates Trilbean Stew.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” said the trolley-waiter, returning to the table. “There’s been a mistake.” It snapped its metal fingers again. The words over Lishtig’s place-setting changed. “That menu was for a Slarcian visitor we had last week. “This one,” he chuckled, placing a new menu in front of Listhig, “has Lormfry instead of Trilbean Stew.”
“But... but Lormfry’s my absolute favourite,” spluttered Lishtig.
“We know, sir. We know. Now, may I take your orders?”
After changing his mind at least thirty times, John finally decided on spare ribs, followed by macaroni cheese, with sticky toffee pudding as a dessert. At the end of the meal, he leaned back in his MorphSeat, patting his stomach. “That was the best food I’ve had since I left Earth,” he said happily. “I mean, the canteen on Hyperspace High’s not bad, but that sticky toffee pudding was the best ever.”
“Thank you, sir,” the trolley-waiter replied, taking John’s empty plate and adding it to a teetering pile on the top of its flat surface. “I shall pass your compliments to the robo-chef.”
“Have you seen Ms Vartexia?” whispered Emmie. She nodded across the table, where the teacher was huddled over a large bowl of blue Elvian spaghetti. “That’s her third bowl.”
“For someone so thin, she really loves her food,” replied John. He watched in awe as Ms Vartexia shovelled in another mouthful. “Look, she’s calling the waiter over. She can’t be asking for another bowl... whoa! She is, too.”
Kaal leaned in, turning his good ear towards John to find out what he and Emmie were whispering about. “I’ve never seen an Elvian eat like that,” he told them. “Normally, an Elvian portion size wouldn’t be big enough to feed a Derrilian Smallworm.”
Eventually, however, Ms Vartexia managed to fill herself. “Now,” squeaked the waiter as he took her empty bowl, “we have organized a special event for our guests from Hyperspace High: a private show by Great Red Spot.”
“What on Earth is this?” said John, baffled. A small stage had been set up. Four gently glimmering balls of gas hovered there. Twanging, high-pitched noises filled the air. He couldn’t see how the sounds were being made.
“It’s music,” hissed Emmie.
“Are you sure?”
Emmie stared at him. “Of course I’m sure. Don’t you have music on your planet?” Before John could answer, she continued, “Great Red Spot are fab. I love this song, it’s called ‘Take Me to Your Leader’.”
“Shouldn’t it have, you know, a tune?”
“A tune? How very primiti— old-fashioned,” Emmie said, smiling. “Let me guess, on Earth the musicians play hollowed out logs with the bones of their enemies, right?”
“On Earth, the musicians play music you can actually dance to,” John retorted. He looked at Kaal for support. Since they had started sharing a room, Kaal had heard a lot of the Earth music that John and Zepp both loved.
Kaal was no help at all. The Derrilian was standing and holding out a hand to Emmie. “Come on, Tarz,” he said. “Let’s show the Earthling how to dance.”
John almost choked with laughter as the two of them hit the flashing dance floor. Kaal, wings outstretched, looked
like he was treading across hot coals. Every so often he would leap in the air, yowling. Emmie, meanwhile, simply lifted one leg in the air and hopped up and down while flapping her hands. Thinking they must be kidding around, he looked around the table, but no one else was laughing. In fact, more of the students were now getting up and joining Kaal and Emmie. As John spluttered in disbelief, Bareon bent over until he was clutching his own ankles and started shaking his backside in the air.
“Are you not dancing, John Riley?”
Biting back fresh gales of laughter, John looked across the table to see Ms Vartexia looking at him. Covering her mouth, she burped. “Excuse me. As I was about to say: we Elvians do not dance – we don’t have the knees for it – but I believe it is a pleasurable experience. Why don’t you join your classmates?”
John opened his mouth to tell her that his classmates looked ridiculous and the music was dreadful. Then he stopped himself. Why not, he thought. If you can’t beat them, join them.
“Show us some Earth dancing!” Emmie shouted over the music as John arrived on the dance floor.
Trying not to giggle, he struck a pose he’d once seen in an old movie called Saturday Night Fever. Spinning on the spot, he found a beat somewhere in the bizarre music and began dancing like an old Russian Cossack. Arms folded, he squatted close to the floor, kicking his legs out as quickly as he could.
“Wow!” shouted Emmie. “Great moves. You Earthlings can really dance.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” John replied. Raising his arms, he tried a new move over the polished floor.
Lishtig stared at him, jaw hanging open. “B-but it looks like you’re walking forward when you’re actually going b-backward,” he gasped.
“Yeah, on Earth we call it the Moonwalk,” grinned John.
“But that’s just silly!” yelled Kaal over the music. “Moons generally have a lower gravitational force than most planets, so a ‘moonwalk’ would look more like this...” he leaped into the air, making large, slow movements.
John rolled his eyes. “It’s just a name, Kaal!” he called back. “Like breakdancing. We don’t actually break anything.”
He dropped, showing off some basic street dance moves he’d learned at his last school. This brought him a round of applause. Even Ms Vartexia, who was slumped back in her seat looking a little ill, clapped politely.
The sillier and more outrageous John’s dancing became, the more he impressed his classmates. While Great Red Spot bobbed on stage, John found himself at the centre of a cheering circle.
“You didn’t tell me you were such a great dancer,” Emmie gasped, as the band finished their last song and floated away. “You could be a professional.”
John grinned, certain she must be pulling his leg, but as he looked into her navy-blue eyes he realized that the beautiful Sillaran was deadly serious. “We Earthlings are naturally talented like that,” he replied, trying not to burst out laughing again.
Emmie nodded enthusiastically. “Can you teach me some of those moves when we get back to Hyperspace High?”
John was about to agree, when Ms Vartexia interrupted. “Time for bed,” she said weakly. “Lots to do tomorrow.”
The Hyperspace History teacher was swaying slightly and her blue skin had a greenish tinge.
“But it’s still early,” groaned Kaal.
John shushed him. “If we keep her happy, maybe she’ll let us visit more interesting exhibits tomorrow,” he said.
“I’m tired anyway,” Emmie yawned. “It’s been a long day. I could do with some sleep.”
The Shuttletube ride back to the space port passed quietly, except for Ms Vartexia’s frequent burps and embarrassed apologies. Soon, John was back in his Privateer. At the touch of a button, the MorphSeat transformed itself into a comfortable bed. In a small locker, he found a light cover and pillow. A panel slid back at the rear of the ship to reveal a small sink and toilet. As he began changing into his pyjamas, John worried about the transparent shell of the ship. People could see him! Then he remembered that from the outside, the hull was opaque. After changing, John stretched out, feeling the MorphSeat warming beneath him.
“Not bad, eh?” Kaal’s voice said through the intercom.
“Very comfy,” John agreed.
“Reminds me of a Derrilian joke: two explorers are camping on a planet they’ve just discovered. One turns to the other and says, ‘Can you hear something?’ The other looks up and says, ‘Only your feet.’”
There was a pause.
“Yes, and then what?” John asked eventually.
“That’s it. That’s the joke.”
“Oh, right—”
“Brilliant!” John’s answer was drowned out by Emmie’s hysterical laughter. “That’s so funny. Do you want to hear a Sillaran gag?”
“Go on, then.”
“A Sillaran high priest visits a space station. At the entry port is a Vesuvian Burbeast. ‘Hello,’ says the high priest, ‘there’s a holy relic named after you.’ The Burbeast looks at the priest and says, ‘What: Jartex?’”
This time both Kaal and Emmie howled with laughter.
“W-w-why aren’t you l-laughing, John?” Kaal finally managed to choke through his howls. “That’s hilarious.”
“Are Earth jokes as good as Earth dancing?” Emmie asked. “Tell us one.”
“Yeah, let’s hear an Earth joke.”
“OK,” John replied. “Two cannibals are eating a clown. One turns to the other and says, ‘Does this taste funny to you?’”
There was a long silence.
“Still, at least Earthlings are good dancers,” said Emmie with pity in her voice.
All three of them found this funnier than any of the jokes. It set off a giggling fit that lasted long after they should have been asleep. Eventually, however, Emmie’s yawns came more and more often and she finally dropped out of the conversation. Before long, John heard the unmistakable grunts and horrible grinding noises of his Derrilian roommate’s snores. Quickly, he reached out and switched off the intercom.
Looking up through the transparent shell of the small spaceship, he watched the twin moons and stars of the alien sky. All in all, he decided, it had been a pretty good day. He had walked through a Martian dust storm and discovered a secret about the history of his own planet. The evening at Optical Orbit had been fantastic. As his eyes closed, John wondered what fun the next day might bring.
Chapter 10
John frowned as Archivus Major’s sun rose higher in the sky outside the window.
“Where is she?” he asked, looking around at his classmates. “Ms Vartexia is always punctual. It sends her into a twitching fit if she’s even a second late.”
As had been arranged the previous evening, the class had met at the space dock’s Terrace Café for an early breakfast. That had been an hour ago. Everyone had eaten and was now eager to start the day’s visits. Unfortunately, the Elvian teacher was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe we should check on her,” suggested Emmie. Impatient to leave the dock, the students agreed.
“Umm, hello. Are you in there?” Emmie called, rapping on the Privateer’s shell.
No reply.
“Ms Vartexia!” Emmie shouted, knocking again. “Is everything all right?”
“Do you think we should open the door?” asked John doubtfully. Forcing their way into a teacher’s private sleeping space seemed a good way to land a month’s worth of detentions.
The students looked at each other in silence.
“I think we should,” said Emmie eventually. “She didn’t look very well last night. Perhaps she’s ill.” Placing her hand on the craft, she said, “Emmie Tarz. Open up.”
Nothing happened.
“Let me do it,” said Kaal, pushing his way through the crowd. From his pocket he pulled a small device that he always ca
rried around with him. Called a ToTool, John always thought of it as a sort of space-age Swiss army knife. At the flick of a switch, it seemed to become whatever tool Kaal needed.
Kaal aimed the ToTool at the side of the Privateer. A small beam of red light swept across the ship’s glassy hull. Kaal grunted with satisfaction as a panel slid back, exposing delicate circuits. He flicked the ToTool again, and a needle-thin spike shot out. With steady hands, Kaal touched it to the circuitry. “Computer: emergency override of privacy protocols,” he said. “Pilot Vartexia unable to respond and possibly in need of medical attention.”
“Privacy protocols suspended.”
John’s eyebrows shot up in amazement at his friend’s technical expertise, as the door panel of the Privateer slid back noiselessly. The students peered inside.
Wrapped in a cover, Ms Vartexia’s thin body was sprawled across the MorphSeat bed.
“Sleeping like a newborn Pataq grub,” said Werril at the back of the small crowd.
“I’m not so sure,” Emmie frowned. “She should have woken up by now.” Reaching out, she shook the teacher’s thin shoulder. “Ms Vartexia. Ms Vartexia!”
The Elvian didn’t stir.
Emmie turned, her forehead lined with worry. “There’s something wrong with her.”
“Let me take a look,” said Bareon, stepping forward. “My dad’s a doctor with the Galactic Fleet.”
John, Emmie, and Kaal stepped back to let him through.
Bareon leaned over. Placing a long-fingered hand on either side of Ms Vartexia’s neck, he said, “Both hearts beating slowly, but firmly.” He lifted one of her eyelids. “Eyes look fine, and she’s breathing without any problems. Werril’s right, she’s just sleeping.” He stopped for a moment and then turned to face the students with a smile on his small mouth. “Of course, it must have been the Elvian spaghetti.”
“What do you mean?” asked John. “Has she got food poisoning?”
“No,” replied Bareon. “Elvian spaghetti contains small amounts of sedative. Someone eating a normal portion would just feel relaxed after their meal, but in large quantities—”
